


Spice Up Your Life

by cherryvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Established Relationship, Future Fic, Humor, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romance, SPN J2 Secret Santa, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: Five times Sam and Dean have creative sex to get out of their “rut” and one time they don’t.





	Spice Up Your Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/gifts).



> Happy Holidays swan_song21! I took some of your likes and this is what I ended up with. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to L. for beta.

They were in a rut, was the thing. Sure, it might seem impossible to be in a rut—sexually— when you’re committing incest on a daily basis, but Dean Winchester would wholeheartedly disagree.

“A rut,” Sam repeats flatly, not looking up from the novel he’s reading. 

Dean groans and knocks the book out of his hand. 

“Hey!” Sam looks up to where Dean is standing over the side of the bed, leveling a glare.

“This is exactly my point. I’m standing here, in nothing but a towel, and you’re too busy with...” Dean squints at the cover. “Alexander Hamilton? Seriously, Sam?” 

“It’s good!” Sam argues, retrieving his book from where Dean knocked it askew and smoothing out the pages like the nerd he is. “It’s what the musical was...” 

"Read my lips, Sammy," Dean cuts him off while plucking the item from Sam's grasp and placing it on the nightstand. “I. Don’t. Care. I care about sex. You remember sex?” 

Sam huffs and leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms. “Yes, Dean, I remember sex.” 

“Oh good, I’m glad one of us does. Which brings me back to my original point: rut. Population two.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “We fucked yesterday morning, man.” 

“Correction: we had slow, long, missionary sex yesterday morning in which I made you breakfast in bed afterward. You probably call it making love in your head; I know you.” 

Sam opens his mouth before closing it abruptly. 

“See!” Dean points a finger at him. “This is what I’m talking about. We’ve become boring, Sammy. We’re all...” Dean gestures around the room with both hands. “Domestic.” 

Sam snorts. “I thought you loved the bunker.” 

“I do! But there’s a time for nesting and there’s a time for sowing wild oats, y’know?” 

Sam’s expression grows tight. “So you want to sleep with other people.” 

Dean’s eyes widen. “What? No! Sam, sometimes I really do worry you’ve taken one too many hits to the noggin. I’m saying I want to spice up _our_ sex life. With _each other_.” 

Sure, Dean missed women sometimes, but not enough to mess with—this thing they’ve got going on. They’ve been through too much together for something as foolish as that.

“Oh,” Sam replies, sounding sheepish. He’s looking down at his hands, and his bangs have fallen down in front of his face. Dean is hit with a swell of affection so hard it nearly bowls him over. 

“Christ, c’mere,” Dean growls. He pulls off his towel in one go and settles his body on top of his brother. 

After kissing for what feels like ages, he fucks Sam long and hard, face to face with the lights on. He falls asleep wrapped in Sam's arms. 

Operation Break the Rut can commence tomorrow.  
___________________________

**1\. This Ain’t Pretty Woman**

Except that tomorrow they end up on a job (courtesy of Jody) and Dean doesn’t have time to plan out all the ways he wants to debauch his brother. He considers asking Sam for a handjob while driving, but they’re already in their FBI suits and that wouldn’t be responsible. Plus expensive dry-cleaning is for suckers; Dean’s beer method for clothes is highly superior. 

It’s a pretty cut and dry vengeful spirit case. They’re back in the hotel by 2 A.M. and are too tired to do anything but rub against each other until they come, naked and panting against one another’s open mouths. Dean wakes up once again wrapped up in Sam’s arms and groans. He’s the big brother, dammit, he should be the one doing the holding. It doesn’t matter that Sam’s a giant and gives off heat better than a fireplace. 

It took them awhile to get to this point; to cross the invisible line that had been drawn their entire lives yet seemed inevitable for more than half of it. Their snail’s pace from brothers to— whatever they were now (Dean despised ‘lovers’, ‘boyfriends’ was immature, ‘partners’ was vague) was largely Dean’s doing. 

But once he’d gotten over all of his hangups and recognized that Sam had his own free will—and that free will apparently wanted Dean mind, body, and soul—they were off and running.

It was still bizarre sometimes. Like moments like these; locked in Sam’s embrace and it feeling so fucking right (more right than anything ever has) and yet still wanting to be the one doing the holding. It’s just ingrained in him: protect Sammy. 

(“Sometimes it’s okay to let go,” Sam had murmured after one of the first times they did this; Dean had been ready to bolt to his own room because they were _cuddling_ and Dean hadn’t done that in— way too long. He'd also never admitted aloud to anyone that he actually _liked_ it.

And so he’d listened to Sam, let himself fall asleep in his arms and woke up right there as well.) 

It’s been a couple of years now. They’ve eased into this... relationship, Dean supposes is the only way to categorize it, the way they eased back into being brothers after Stanford. They still infuriate one another, still argue and shout and tease. But now those things usually devolve into sex. Lately, however, Dean has noticed sex itself has become part of a set schedule, like Sam’s ridiculous morning workout routines or Taco Tuesdays. They do it like clockwork in the mornings (unless they’re on a job) with the exact same foreplay and end result. They do it like clockwork at bedtime (unless they’re on a job or Sam says, “just one more chapter,” while Dean inevitably falls asleep with the TV on). 

It’s not that their sex life has slowed down (Dean is still gettin’ it seven days a week, multiple times a day), but he can time how long it takes from start to finish and predict Sam’s every moan and gasp.

He tells Sam this while they’re on their way out of town.

“That’s pretty normal when you’ve been with someone awhile.” 

Sometimes Dean can’t stand Sam’s stupid level head. 

He counters the only way he knows how. “You’re my brother and I’m fucking you; there’s nothing normal about this.” 

Sam glares at him for the next five minutes and Dean feels victorious. Ten minutes later they stop at a thrift store the next town over. 

(“Running a little low on clothes,” Sam had said earlier that day.

“Yeah, your three nearly identical flannels need more company.” 

“You’re one to talk, jerk.” 

“Bitch.”

Some things never changed.)

While clawing through the discount racks, Dean finds himself drawn to a pair of skinny jeans and a tight shirt, an idea forming in his head. 

Sam glances over his shoulder as Dean holds them up, assessing. “Tryin’ out a new look?”

Dean hides his smirk. “Not me. You.” He shoves the items into Sam’s arms. “For the hooker roleplay later.” 

Sam sputters, looking around them anxiously. There’s only the kid working the counter, and he’s wearing headphones and a patently bored expression. “The... what? Dean!” 

Dean adores whenever he can get Sam this flustered. It’s #246 on his list of Favorite Sam Things. 

“Relax, Julia, we’re not going on a shopping spree. Just— a little fantasy to break The Rut.” 

“You just capitalized the rut in that sentence. I heard it.” 

Dean flushes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Sam laughs, full-bodied and brilliant. It’s #27 on his list of Favorite Sam Things; it doesn’t happen nearly enough. 

Dean finds himself humming absently the rest of their time in the store while catching Sam’s eye and exchanging coy looks. It hits him that they're flirting, and it's pretty fantastic. 

Sam must agree, because he buys the clothes.  
_______________________

“Come here often?” 

“Oh my god, seriously?” 

Dean groans. “Dammit, Sam!” 

“I’m sorry! But dude, it’s so friggin’ cheesy.” 

“It’s hooker roleplay, man! It’s supposed to be cheesy.” 

Sam huffs and unbends the leg that was resting against the building. “How long do I have to lean up against this wall of this sleazy motel anyway? And shouldn’t I be asking _you_ if you come here often? After all, you’re the one with the room.” 

Dean bangs his head against said wall. “I wanna die. Only you would question the believability of roleplay. We roleplay every day of our friggin’ _lives_ , Sam. Can you please just go with it?” 

Sam rests his heel against the building, leg bent at the knee. Dean immediately steps back to get a look at him because god, he’s beyond criminal in those clothes, the tight fabric clinging in all the right spots. 

“Sometimes. First time I’ve seen you here, though.” 

Dean blinks before realizing Sam is continuing the scene Dean had started. 

“Just passin’ through. Business convention.” Dean’s wearing one of the suits he uses for their witness interviews, figuring he might as well go all-in with the charade. 

Sam hums, tilting his head to look at Dean through his long lashes.

Jesus Christ. 

“Mmm. Whattdya do?” 

“Mortician.” 

Sam gives him a _Seriously, Dean?_ look before getting back into character and chuckling softly. “They have business conventions for that sort of thing?” 

Dean shrugs. “Well, yeah. They’re many new trends to keep up on. Latest and greatest caskets, urns, that sorta thing.” 

Sam barely conceals his eye roll, but he’s smiling that winning smile at Dean, dimples and all. If he’d just met this guy, he would have felt like he hit the jackpot. And after all, he _is_ supposed to just be meeting him, so maybe he should be feeling that way. 

“Must be kinda lonely, job like that. Bet you could do for some company.” 

Dean’s dick twitches in his suit pants, Sam’s low voice rolling over him slow like honey. 

He shuffles his feet, tries to make it look good. “I’ve uh. I’ve never… done this before.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “This as in men or this as in pick up a hooker?” 

Dean wants to laugh at how into it Sam has gotten, but honestly? He’s way fucking into it himself. “The, uh, second one.” 

Sam smiles that brilliant smile again. “That’s okay, mister, ain’t nothing to it.” 

Dean does laugh then, and Sam glares. 

Dean raises a hand in appeasement, before saying, “How much?” 

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for,” Sam replies, eyes roaming up and down Dean’s body. 

“You. The entire night.” 

“$700.” 

“Deal,” Dean says, before walking the few feet down to his door, knowing Sam is following him. He looks around, almost hoping someone saw the exchange, that they actually think he’s picking up an honest to god hooker. There’s no one around, though. There’s a reason they’re doing this at 1 a.m. 

Dean opens the door and turns on the light. 

“Nice,” Sam says and Dean snorts. 

“I’m sure all the rooms in this joint look alike.” 

Sam hums, taking off his jean jacket and tossing it on the armchair. “Not all of ‘em had you in it.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m good for the money, you don’t need to sweeten the pot there, sugar.” 

“Can’t a guy pay a compliment?” Sam huffs. 

It’s beyond cute. It’s almost easy to lose himself in this fantasy, pretend Sam isn’t… Sam. But then that thought is also terrifying, so Dean lets it go. 

“Sure, darlin’,” Dean replies easily, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “You can do whatever you want.” 

Sam’s grin is back, blinding and beautiful. “That’s good to know.” 

Then suddenly they’re meeting in the middle of the room and kissing one another as if like their life depends on it. 

Sam groans into Dean’s mouth, pulls him in close, hand huge on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck,” Dean gasps as they break apart, Sam’s mouth attacking his neck. “I don’t even know your name.” 

He pauses for a second before whispering, “Sam. It’s Sam.” 

Dean’s oddly relieved Sam didn’t give him an alias. The thought of moaning someone else’s name, even in roleplay, doesn’t exactly sit well with him. 

“Sam,” Dean repeats, like he’s trying it on. Like it isn’t the three letters that make up every molecule of his being. “I’m Dean.” 

He feels Sam smile against his neck. Dean runs a hand possessively up and down his back. 

“I want to make you come, Dean,” Sam whispers. Before Dean can respond, Sam’s folding to his knees right in the center of the room and deftly undoing Dean’s pants. 

“Holy shit,” Dean manages, eyes wide as he watches Sam. It shouldn’t be different. Sam has peeled him out of this exact suit probably a hundred times, had his hands on that very same zipper. But it is. There’s something about Sam in those tight jeans and even tighter shirt, his biceps bulging as he pulls out Dean’s dick and immediately closes his lips around the tip. It’s obscene, is what it is. 

“Oh god, Sammy,” Dean moans. His hands fly to Sam’s hair as Sam slides his mouth lower. 

Then there’s nothing but air and no heat. “It’s Sam,” he says, bitchy, before taking Dean in again. 

Dean laughs delightedly and fucks into Sam’s mouth. 

Sam doesn’t let him come, though. “Want you inside me,” he gasps against Dean’s thigh. 

“We got all night, baby,” Dean says, pulling Sam to his feet, eyes trained on the way his shirt is riding up to reveal the sinful cut of his hip bones. 

He sucks Sam’s dick on the bed and somehow Sam’s moans are even more sinful than usual. There’s something incredibly wanton and dirty about the spread of his legs and the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. By the time Dean is eating Sam out (on his knees and reveling in the long expanse of Sam’s back under his palms and the taste of him on his tongue) he’s so ready to pop that he’s sure he’s going to shoot early, emulating every bad hooker-client cliche.

By some miracle, he holds off until he gets inside Sam, fucking him hard and deep from behind. The bed slams into the wall with each thrust; Dean can hear people on the other side of the wall pounding for them to shut up.

When all is said and done, they break the damn headboard and Dean’s never been prouder. 

Afterward, they lie panting, sweaty, and sticky. The sheets are ruined around them, and the headboard is in pieces. 

Sam’s still gasping at the ceiling, body flushed, when Dean says, “I think the damage to the room should be deducted from your nightly going rate, don’t you?” 

“Buyer beware,” Sam replies. 

They look at one another and start laughing so hard they cry. 

The next morning Dean makes sure Sam’s clothes make their way into his bag. 

Hooker Fantasy = A Fucking Plus.  
_____________________

**2\. Up Against a Wall**

Dean clearly has the best ideas ever, if his hooker fantasy is anything go by, so he decides to bring Operation Break the Rut to the scene of the crime, so to speak. The bunker didn’t have to solely house missionary sex on flat surfaces. Dean felt they could bring that horizontal party to the vertical plane. As a result, Dean’s got Sam pinned against the wall of the bunker library. It feels incredibly dirty to be doing this here, right next to all of Sam’s precious research material and rare anthologies. It would be better, though, if Sam would stop sliding down said wall. 

“Wrap your legs around me tighter, baby,” Dean whispers, pulling out his most sexy voice for this occasion. 

“Maybe if you held me up a little better,” Sam grumbles, which, honestly how can someone sound so pissy during sex. 

“Maybe if you stopped complaining and did what I tell you.” 

Sam digs his heel into the meat of Dean’s ass, almost painfully and probably on purpose. Dean just fucks into him harder. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Sam gasps. “Ah. You’re gonna, you’re gonna throw your back out.” 

Dean stops thrusting, pulling back to stare at him. “Who am I, the Crypt Keeper? For god’s sake, Sam, I think I can handle a little athletic sex.” 

Sam groans, but it doesn’t sound pleasurable. “Goddammit, Dean, are you _trying_ to kill my hard-on?” He swats at Dean’s back.

Dean sniggers and fucks in again, putting his perfectly fine, thank you very much, back into it. “Remember how much that dude creeped you out when you were a kid, Sammy?” 

“Oh my god, that is the least sexy thing you could be saying in my ear right now. And he was freaky!” 

Dean laughs and drives in deeper, holding onto the backs of Sam’s thighs and shoving him harder into the wall. Sam seems to have gotten over his potential hard-on issue, if the sounds he’s making near Dean’s ear are anything to go on. Ten minutes later, Sam is clawing at Dean’s back, moaning his name, while Dean fucks him so hard a few of the books have fallen off the shelves. They collapse in a heap on the floor. Sam is so fucked out it takes him twenty minutes to give Dean shit about a first edition that’s now sitting by their feet. 

Dean checks off Wall Sex from his mental list as a complete and utter win. If his back is a little sore the next morning, Sam needn’t know about it.  
____________________________

**3\. Hitchin’ a Ride**

“You could be a hitchhiker I pick up on the side of the road and you end up showing your thanks by giving road head,” Dean says, casual as ever, a few weeks into his Break the Rut strategic plan.

Sam’s silent for a moment. Dean deliberately keeps his eyes on the road. “How long have you been waiting to bring that one up?” Sam finally asks, and Dean can hear the humor there. Damn him. 

“Give or take a week,” Dean mumbles. 

Sam laughs and throws one of his sad looking veggie chips at Dean’s face. Ten minutes later he tells Dean to pull the car over. Then he gets out and begins walking. When he puts his thumb out, Dean’s confused expression morphs into a grin and he kicks the car into drive. Sometimes he loves the shit out of his baby brother. 

Just like last time, Sam really gets into character. All “shucks, mister, thanks for picking me up,” and “just tryin’ to make my way toward Seattle, awfully grateful you stopped.” 

Five minutes later, Sam’s got his hot hitchhiker mouth wrapped tight around Dean’s dick in an effort to “show him just how grateful he really is” and Dean nearly crashes his baby. 

He ends up pulling off to the side of the road and burying his hands in Sam’s hair. “Yeah, suck me, baby, work for this ride," Dean gasps. Sam tries not to choke around his laughter, the little shit. 

“You are so fucking corny,” Sam says afterward, wiping his mouth obscenely with the back of his hand. 

“Better watch it, or I won’t return the favor,” Dean replies, tucking himself back into his jeans. 

Sam leans back, spreading his legs wantonly and slouching low in his seat. “Well, if that’s really how you feel...” 

Dean grits his teeth, counts to five, and reaches over to unzip his brother’s pants. 

“Best ride ever,” Sam sighs. Dean smiles helplessly, loving when Sam lets himself be just as corny.  
_______________________

**4\. Eating at Home**

They hadn’t had sex when they’d woken up this morning. Instead, Dean got up first, put on the coffee and started making breakfast. They’d been doing it differently in the morning since starting this whole thing; taking Sam from behind, 69ing, whatever constituted as "not their usual routine". It was nice, but Dean still wanted something _else_. So he began thinking about all the things he does for Sam; cooking him food, always handing him a beer first before drinking his own, bringing him soup in bed when he’s sick. Dean has long been aware of his maternal instinct when it comes to his brother, a fact that his been there since Sam was a baby. Maybe it was fucked up for him to want to dirty up some of his more innocent instinctual gestures, but the appeal was overwhelming and perfect for Operation Break the Rut. 

When Sam enters the kitchen, his hair is askew, there are pillow marks on the right side of his face, and he’s nearly sprinting. 

“Whoa, where’s the fire, bud?” 

Sam’s wide-eyes lessen once he spots Dean. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit outta me.” 

“Uh, okay?” Dean turns back to his pancakes. 

“You’re always… I mean, since we started sleeping in the same bed, you’re just always…” 

Dean turns to look over his shoulder, grinning. “Aww, Sammy, did you miss me?” 

Sam rolls his eyes and flicks him on the shoulder. “More like thought you _were_ missing, asshole.” 

Dean’s grin widens. “You’re kinda cute when you’re worried.” 

“Shut up. What’s for breakfast?” 

“Pancakes,” Dean says easily, flipping one over. “And then I’m going to bend you over the table while the dirty dishes are still on it, get on my knees and eat you out until you’re begging for me to fuck you.” 

Dean hears a strangled sound behind him and a muffled curse. He looks over to see Sam has spilled coffee all over the counter. When their eyes meet, he looks dazed. 

“You approve of breakfast, I take it?” 

“Fuck, yes,” Sam breathes. 

Dean waggles his eyebrows and plates the food. They spend the entire time it takes to eat playing footsie under the table (which Dean would object to on principle if Sam’s foot didn’t keep inching up higher and higher on his inner thigh and Dean’s own bare toes weren’t massaging the impressive bulge in Sam’s sweatpants). Sam’s fork has barely hit his empty plate before Dean is on him, running his palms over Sam’s perfect ass, cupping his cheeks and grinding their sweatpants-clad dicks together. Sam groans and captures Dean’s mouth in a deep, thorough kiss and it’s so different to kiss Sam without morning breath as the first thing he tastes. He… kind of misses it? Weird. 

Anyway, they kiss like that for long moments with Dean’s ass against the edge of the table. Before long Dean is flipping them around, turning Sam while dragging his pants down over the swell of his ass. Dean drops to his knees and buries his face between Sam’s perfect cheeks. 

“Oh god, Dean,” Sam gasps. Dean pulls back enough to see him grip the table with both hands, before he dives in again, parting his ass wider and going to town. 

Dean loves doing this, loves how it makes Sam fall to pieces around him. His own dick throbs at the thought of getting inside Sam, all slicked up from just his tongue. He lets go of one cheek to palm at his own length, swirling his tongue around Sam’s rim and dipping inside. “Taste as sweet as cherry pie, Sammy,” Dean says breathily as he pulls back, grin pressed into Sam’s skin. 

Sam lets out a strangled moan that is one part exasperation and two parts titillation, before pushing back against Dean’s face. 

Dean groans and gives himself one more squeeze before getting both hands back on Sam and driving in deep. He keeps it up until Sam is doing exactly what Dean wanted. 

“Please. Oh, fuck, Dean, please.” 

Dean pulls back his tongue and the fingers he’d been using alongside it. He spits crudely on his dick, ignoring Sam’s affronted groan, and then pushes inside. 

Sam’s bent over the table, his arms above his head on either side of the syrup-sticky plates. Dean admires the curve of his ass and arch of his back, fucking in long and slow at first before it becomes too much. He folds himself over Sam, licking and sucking the back of his neck, his ear, his jaw. 

“Yeah, Sammy. God, you feel so fucking good.” 

“Dean,” Sam gasps, and finds one of his hands, threading their fingers together. Dean’s heart flips in his chest and he squeezes back. 

“Christ, Sam,” Dean chokes out, and has to fight back a sudden wave of emotion that is way too sappy for dirty kitchen table sex.

“Touch me,” Sam whispers. 

_Always_ , Dean thinks, and reaches around, fisting Sam’s cock in time with his thrusts. 

They come at nearly the same time, collapsing forward onto the table before sliding to the floor. They don’t move for a while, Sam’s head pillowed in Dean’s lap while Dean drags idle fingers through his hair. 

Then Sam pulls Dean up, leading him towards the shower. They’ve barely gotten clean before they’re making out and ready to go again. 

They do nothing the entire day except for fuck and eat and honestly? Dean doesn’t really need much else in this world.

Aside from his baby, that is.  
_____________________________

**5\. Sneakin’ Around**

“You’re insane,” Sam whispers when Dean closes the door to Sam’s guest room quietly behind him.

“Oh c’mon, live a little.” 

“Dean!” Sam hisses. “Jody and Alex are right down the fucking hall.” 

“These walls are thick,” Dean says, climbing onto the twin bed. 

“There’s no fucking room for this,” Sam grumbles, but he still moves closer to the wall. 

“Nonsense. C’mon, Sammy, let’s make out.” Dean puts on his most charming grin. 

“You’re insane,” Sam repeats, but he still reaches over Dean to shut off the bedside lamp. “I’m beginning to think this is some mid-life crisis.” 

“You shut your dirty mouth,” says Dean, mildly horrified, before kissing his brother full on that very same mouth. 

They’re used to more room, and not having to be quiet. That’s also what makes it hot, in Dean’s opinion. He would be horrified if Jody and Alex actually heard or saw them, but the thrill of some semi-public sneaking around sex? Hell, yes, bring it. 

The mattress springs squeak beneath their weight as Sam rolls on top of him. Dean groans, winding his arms around Sam’s back. They won’t be able to do much at all—just a good old-fashioned rub job—yet it’s as hot as going all the way, kissing to muffle their moans and slowly peeling off one another’s clothes.  
Sam is thrusting his dick into the curve of Dean’s thigh and Dean is palming at Sam’s ass. He wants so badly to let his hand crack against the firm muscle, but is too afraid of making any more noise than they already are. Then that thought gets Dean even hotter and he’s coming, gasping into Sam’s hot, wet mouth while his whole body trembles. 

“God, Dee.” Sam’s words slide over his jaw, blissed-out and drowsy as he shakes and comes apart himself. 

“Shit, that was so hot,” Dean gasps out, chest heaving. 

Sam laughs quietly, nosing along Dean’s neck. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“That’s too big a word for after sex, man.” 

Sam shakes his head and shifts his weight off to the side. Dean knows he needs to go back to his room, keep up appearances. He lays there a few minutes longer, comfortable in Sam’s embrace. Sam doesn’t say anything, so Dean figures they’re on the same page. 

When he finally does get up and head back to his guest room, he finds himself longing for their bed, their home. The room is plenty warm enough, but Dean still misses his human furnace. And waking up alone seems to have lost its appeal a long time ago. 

Maybe there was something to be said for routine after all.  
________________________

**+1 Carnal Knowledge**

After five or so weeks of them fucking six ways to Sunday at every possible interval, Dean declares The Rut officially over. 

“Oh good,” Sam replies dryly, “because I honestly thought the next step was the mile high club.” 

Dean shoots him a betrayed look. “Sam, you know not even the promise of sex could get me on another plane.” 

Sam laughs and stretches. They’ve just woken up, and Sam’s hair is a disaster. Dean will never tell him how much he loves it. “Well, I’m glad you got that out of your system.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh right. So sorry for all the awesome sex you’ve had to endure over the past few weeks. That must’ve been absolutely awful for you.”

Sam levels him with one of his most classic bitch faces. “Shut up, jerk.” He hauls Dean down to him, placing a discreet kiss to his temple. “I just mean, sometimes a little routine isn’t such a bad thing.” 

Dean hums, thinking how Sam unconsciously echoed his previous thoughts, then shivers when Sam licks a slow line down his neck. 

“I love waking up with you still in bed with me,” Sam whispers. 

Dean gasps as Sam’s lips close over the pulse point in his neck and suck hard. “I love feeling your dick pressed up against me.” 

Sam starts a slow grind, letting Dean feel how hard he is. “I love the way you kiss me until I can’t breathe and then work your way down my body, knowing every single place that drives me crazy.” 

Dean groans as Sam begins to do just that, nudging Dean onto his back and working his way down his chest, over his nipples. “I love the way you open me up, so fucking careful, every single time.” 

Sam’s mouth drags along his torso, sucking mouth shaped bruises onto his hip bones and making Dean gasp. “And I love the way you slide into me, looking in my eyes the entire time, the angle just right, the feel of you unlike anything else.” 

Sam licks a long, slow line up the underside of Dean’s cock, before crawling back up his body. 

“That’s the way you make me feel during our ‘routine’, Dean. And honestly? There’s nothing boring about that to me.” 

Dean’s chest is doing that weird thing again, like his rib cage can’t contain the expanse of his heart. If Dean’s being completely honest with himself, this permanency with Sam -- despite being the one thing in this life he’s ever wanted above all else -- scares the shit out of him. He’s long since stopped expecting Sam to leave, but that doesn’t mean he understands _why_ he’s lucky enough to have this. After all the shit they’ve been through, after all the fuckups and deaths and deals, Dean gets to go to bed every night and wake up every morning with the one person he can’t imagine living without. 

Dean realizes then that no, he’s not bored of this routine with Sam. It was never about that. It was about discovering they _had_ a routine that he _could_ potentially get bored with if he was a different person. And what a goddamn novel concept that was. 

Not that Dean’s about to tell Sam all that. He clears his throat, lifting a shaky hand to Sam’s hair. “You’re such a fucking sap.” 

Sam doesn’t roll his eyes, merely looks at Dean straight on, nodding slowly. “Uh-huh. And you fucking love it.” 

Called out, once again. 

“You’re right,” Dean replies, carding his fingers through Sam’s unruly strands. “I really fucking do.” 

He tugs Sam down for a kiss, settling in for some Routine Morning Sex. 

And damn if it isn’t pretty fucking spectacular.

The End.


End file.
